


one thing is for certain

by annemari



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Comfort, Domestic, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:45:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annemari/pseuds/annemari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Easy," Nick says. "Breathe, love."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I'm fine," Harry rasps, and sits up. "Fine."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You don't look fine," Nick says.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Harry frowns. "Rude."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Nick laughs lightly, and Harry looks up to catch it, catch the lines in the corners of Nick's eyes. Harry's head's fuzzy and his chest hurts a bit, but there's something about Nick being here, being home, that makes it feel like everything will be fine.</i>
</p><p>Or, Harry's sick and Nick looks after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one thing is for certain

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick little thing, because I was thinking about how Harry was sick, and then I was thinking about Twitter, and then this happened. *waves hands* Title from Gorgon City's "Here For You".

It's a complete accident.

It's just that Harry is sick, and Nick's out of his favourite tea, and Harry already has Twitter open.

_@grimmers you're out of tea what do I do :(_

Harry frowns at the tweet after, confused. He's sure he meant that to be a text. A DM, at least. He should have sent a DM.

He deletes it quickly, and only then realises that's probably more damning than just leaving it up. Fuck. His head hurts and he can feel another coughing fit coming on. He quickly types out an actual text for Nick ( _out of tea, please bring some!_ ) and sends it off.

He was going to make tea, settle in on the sofa, watch a bit of telly. It all seems pointless now, and Nick's bed is a lot more comfortable than his sofa. Also bigger. And warmer.

He leaves the things he'd gotten out in preparation of tea on the counter and shuffles back to the bedroom.

It's like the bed is waiting for him. The bed is soft. The sheets are gentle against his tender skin and the covers are warm. This bed loves Harry. Harry loves this bed. He curls up around one of the pillows and is asleep before his next thought.

~ 

"Hey," someone says.

Harry grumbles and turns his face into the pillow. That makes it hard to breathe, though, and he starts coughing. There's a comforting hand on his back, and someone's cooing at him. Nick. Must be Nick.

"Easy," Nick says. "Breathe, love."

"I'm fine," Harry rasps, and sits up. "Fine."

"You don't look fine," Nick says. 

Harry frowns. "Rude."

Nick laughs lightly, and Harry looks up to catch it, catch the lines in the corners of Nick's eyes. Harry's head's fuzzy and his chest hurts a bit, but there's something about Nick being here, being home, that makes it feel like everything will be fine.

Well, everything will probably be fine, Harry just has a cold. But having Nick here is still important.

"Hi," Harry says.

"Hi," Nick echoes, voice soft. He reaches over and rests his hand on Harry's forehead.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks.

"Do you have a temperature?" Nick asks. "You didn't last night, did you?"

"Don't have a temperature," Harry says.

"You're warm," Nick says, frowning. He sounds all concerned.

Harry pulls back and shakes his head. "I'm fine." His head swims a little after that so he tilts over and leans against Nick's chest.

Nick wraps his arms around him and holds on tight. "Oh, love, you're not fine."

Harry sighs and tries to rub his head against Nick's chest. Maybe that'll make it stop hurting. "Just a bit poorly," he mumbles. "Will be better soon. For the shows. Just need to sleep. Right?"

"Yeah," Nick says. He's started gently rubbing Harry's temples. He's probably magic.

"You're magic," Harry says.

"Of course I am," Nick says. "We should check if you have a temperature."

Harry hums. He doesn't really care what they do as long as Nick won't make him move.

"You should drink something, right?" Nick asks. "Water? Tea? I can make soup. You need to eat."

"Don't want to," Harry says. His throat is rough, his head heavy, and the thought of anything that requires any sort of effort seems terrible right now. Except maybe tea. Maybe tea would be nice. Not as nice as Nick petting his hair, but maybe up there.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Nick asks. "I saw you'd been in the kitchen."

"I was going to get tea," Harry says. Right. The tea. There was something about the tea. "You're out. I couldn't find it."

"I can go make tea," Nick says. His hand stills.

"No," Harry says, frowning, and attempts to wrap his arms around Nick's waist. They're so heavy to lift, and he's too tired to clung as tight as he wants. "Don't leave."

"I'll only be in the kitchen," Nick says. "Just a moment. Go on, lie back down."

Harry sighs, but lets Nick push him down. "Wait, you got the tea?"

"Yeah," Nick says. "Oh, hey, did you reply to me on Twitter earlier?"

"Was meant to be a text," Harry mumbles. "Sorry."

"I got the text," Nick says. "It's fine."

Harry coughs and turns to his side. "You sure? I didn't want to—like—"

"Get people all worked up?" Nick asks.

Harry frowns. "Yeah." He coughs again. His head still hurts.

"It's fine," Nick says again. "I'll go make you the tea, yeah?"

"Please," Harry says, closing his eyes.

The next time he opens them there's a mug on the bedside table and Nick is running his fingers through his hair.

Harry blinks a little at the tea before pushing himself to sit up again, Nick helping.

"Hey," Nick says, hand settling on Harry's shoulder. "Wasn't sure if I should wake you."

"It's fine," Harry says. "I should probably take my cough meds, actually."

"Oh shit, right," Nick says. "You want them now?"

"I think so," Harry says. "I can't remember where I put them."

"Did you take them last night?"

Harry screws up his face and tries to remember. He got to Nick's impossibly late; Nick was already fast asleep, and Harry did his best not to wake him. He only remembers taking off his clothes and slipping into bed, curling up around Nick's back, even though he knows Nick doesn't like that much. Harry was sick, Nick could deal. He remembers Nick grumbling something and falling quiet when Harry kissed the back of his neck. Then sleep.

"Don't think so," he says.

"They're probably still in your bag, then," Nick says, getting up.

Harry watches him as he goes through Harry's bag, effortlessly locating the meds between dirty laundry and old notebooks.

"Here," Nick says, handing the bottle over. "Take these, drink your tea. I'm going to make soup."

"Really?" Harry asks.

"Of course," Nick says. "It's what you have when you're poorly, right?"

Harry hums and picks up the tea mug. It's just cool enough to drink. Perfect. "You know, I didn't expect you'd be like this."

Nick frowns. "Like what?"

Harry shrugs. "So—I don't know?"

"Caring?" Nick jokes.

"No, of course not," Harry says. "Just, so efficient. Making me tea, getting me my meds. I don't know, I thought you might get bored."

Nick stares at him like Harry's just said the stupidest thing. "Bored?"

Harry shrugs. "I'm sick."

"And delirious. We should really check your temperature."

"I just thought you didn't like sick people. You've said you don't like sick people."

"I never know what to do when someone's sick," Nick says, shrugging. "Like, what makes them feel better? They're all sad and snotty and I don't want to get sick myself."

"Exactly," Harry says. "See?"

"Not really," Nick says.

"You know how to make me feel better!"

"That's easy," Nick says. "Give hugs. And extra attention. Also you're not that snotty. You're not snotty at all, thank god."

"Just coughy," Harry says sadly.

Nick smiles. "Yeah, that. Anyway, don't worry. The second you feel better I'll get back to annoying you."

Harry frowns. "You don't annoy me."

"Exactly," Nick says, and presses a quick kiss to Harry's hair. "Now drink your tea."

"Bossy," Harry says happily.

"Yeah, yeah," Nick says. "Go on, then. I'll be in the kitchen."

"Wait," Harry says. "I wanted to watch telly."

"Okay?" Nick says slowly.

Harry looks down at his mostly full mug, and then at the covers tangled around his legs.

Nick sighs and takes the tea from him and puts it on the table. He fetches another blanket, helps Harry out of bed and wraps the blanket around him, and walks him to the bedroom, going back to get his tea. Harry's so pleased he's tingling a little. That might be just the fever, but still.

Nick disappears into the kitchen and Harry settles in with his tea. He doesn't find anything specific he wants to watch on telly, but it's nice to just have something happening in front of him. He wants to check in on his mum and Gemma, but he must have left his phone in the bedroom. Possibly the kitchen.

"Nick?" he calls.

"What?"

"Where's my phone?"

"How should I know?"

Harry pouts. "Niiiick."

There's the sound of footsteps and Harry cranes his neck to grin at Nick when he stomps into the bedroom and emerges with Harry's phone.

"Thanks," Harry says, smiling.

Nick shakes his head fondly and heads back to the kitchen.

Harry sends a couple of texts to Gemma and replies to his mum's, and then his thumb is hovering over the Twitter app. He really hopes he didn't cause trouble for Nick. It's pointless to check, though. There's always going to be shit out there. 

He still glances over his feed, and checks the trending topics, out of curiosity and boredom. Nothing's trending, but there are a ton of people asking him if he got his tea. He grins and instagrams a picture of his almost empty tea mug, captioning it just with _Tea!_ There.

He sets the phone down and pulls the covers up to his chin, coughing a little. He must doze off again at some point, because he startles awake when the sofa shifts.

"You know," Nick says. "I can't actually tell if you're falling asleep more because you're sick, or if this is just the regular amount and I'd forgotten about it."

Harry frowns. "You'd forgotten about me?"

"Okay," Nick says. "That's definitely the cold talking. Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't be nasty."

"Oh god, don't say that, it makes me think of Finchy."

Harry laughs and doesn't even start coughing. Much.

He wants to ask Nick about Twitter, but he doesn't really want to know. Nick always says he's fine, even when Harry knows it must bother him, the way people are. It bothers Harry. It's just that Nick's never blamed Harry for it, and Harry doesn't get that, always, but Nick just straight up refuses to let Harry apologise for it. It's frustrating, sometimes, but that's how Nick is.

"Hey," he says instead. "Are you really making soup?"

"Huh?" Nick asks. "Oh, yeah. Got the recipe and everything."

"Really?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Nick says.

Harry's too tired to try to figure out if Nick's telling the truth or not, so he just tilts his head and widens his eyes. Nick stares back at him. There's a pause.

"Fine!" Nick says. "I was going to _try_. But it would have taken too long!"

"Too much work?" Harry asks. "For me?"

"Shut _up_ ," Nick grumbles. "I didn't have half the ingredients and I didn't want to go out again and leave you alone."

"Aw," Harry says, and rests his head against Nick's shoulder. "You worry."

"Do I?" Nick asks.

"You _care_."

"Harold."

"You love me."

There's a pause and then Nick pulls Harry in and presses a kiss to his hair, to his forehead. "Maybe I do."

"You do," Harry says, and closes his eyes.

"Yeah," he hears Nick say softly. Harry smiles.


End file.
